


Swiss Chocolates!

by jamgrl



Series: An Angel's Demon [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Attraction, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Chocolate, Deleted Scenes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Historical, Historical References, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: Crowley arrives on the day of Aziraphale's bookshop opening to finally deliver the chocolates he had meant to give him a few days previously. Aziraphale in unable to comprehend his feelings about this event.---"Aziraphale didn’t know why he was nervous. Is that what he was? Something about Crowley being here,here. It was rather different than running into each other by accident or meeting for a specific arrangement related discussion."





	Swiss Chocolates!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to the [deleted scene](https://aconissa.tumblr.com/post/185343296968/good-omens-episode-3-bonus-scene-london-1800) in which Crowley shows up to Aziraphale's brand new bookshop with _chocolates_ in 1800.

**London 1800**

Today was the day. The day of the bookshop opening. The day that had very narrowly managed to arrive. 

The bookshop was as orderly as it could be: Aziraphale’s many tomes delicately arranged on the shelves, very carefully written opening hours in the window, and somewhere in a corner, a medal haphazardly shoved into a drawer that wouldn’t manage to close properly.

Aziraphale adjusted and fiddled with his ascot nervously as he stood at the front entrance of the shop. He gingerly turned the lock on the door and, letting out a heavy breath, turned the open sign forward for the first time. Aziraphale remained there frozen, waiting for something to happen. 

Through the window, he could see a thin stream of Londoners strolling by, no one paying particular mind to the shop. It was a glorious sunny day and it was just after lunch, so surely many people would be taking the opportunity to enjoy some exercise and the streets would be quite bustling soon.

Aziraphale didn’t really know what to do with himself, but once his initial shock of having officially opened had worn off, he realized that blocking the entrance probably wasn’t in his best interest, lest he be walked into by his first customer. So, instead, he took to pacing about, pausing in different locations in the shop, testing them as possible places to stand in a dignified manner.

Later, as the blazing afternoon heat was being replaced by the whisper of dusk breezes, Aziraphale found himself busied by rearranging his books and wondering whether he should reconsider his categorizations.

The bell of his shop door had only rung twice in the day since he had turned the open sign forward. The first time, the door was swung open by two young ladies, surely not one and twenty, who had burst through the door giggling, only to turn towards the window, just hiding behind a bookshelf, as two very young regimental men strolled by. As soon as the men were out of sight, the ladies were out the door again as quickly as they came, in a fit of giggles once more. An hour or so later, it was a smartly dressed young man who removed his top hat and politely nodded at Aziraphale, only to take a single turn about the room, stopping just barely at a few book stands, and finally giving Aziraphale an appraising look before nodding curtly and strolling back out. 

Aziraphale sighed as he thought back to the visits. He supposed it was for the best that Londoners didn’t seem interested in his books. He didn’t _really_ want to sell them, anyways. His amassed collection had just been becoming unmanageable. 

Feeling like his book rearrangement was as complete as it could be for the moment, Aziraphale stopped to smooth his coat jacket and smile approvingly at the shelf before him. With that, he swiveled to face the bookshop entrance with the intention of returning to the door to switch the sign to closed. What he saw, however, stopped him in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat.

It was Crowley, waving at the store window, the same package in hand he had had a few days previously. He had never managed to come into the shop that day, with Gabriel and Sandalphon’s unexpected visit. Aziraphale had forgotten Crowley had stopped by, his own mind first preoccupied with the prospect of being unmercifully torn from his station _just_ as he was settling into his new shop and then baffled but relieved when the two angels had returned only to tell him he would be staying after all.

Crowley, who had swung by with chocolates. Here to celebrate the shop opening? They had had many rendezvous in their nearly 6000 years on Earth, but Crowley coming _here?_ To Aziraphale’s shop? For some reason, unknown to the angel, it made his heart pound.

Now, Crowley was pushing through the front door, removing his top hat but leaving his sunglasses in place. “Exciting opening day?” he asked.

“Rather uneventful, actually,” Aziraphale managed to say, still planted firmly in the same spot. Crowley strolled to a bookshelf to examine its contents. 

“More eventful than a day at head office, though, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes!” His tongue was loosened thinking of the angelic visit. “Even an uneventful day in London has more of interest than _that._ I don’t know _what_ changed their minds, but thank _heavens_ for whatever it was.”

“ _Heaven_ had nothing to do with it.” Crowley flipped his head around, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just long enough to give Aziraphale a wink.

“What? You-?”

“I only happened to be practicing my acting outside of a certain tailor’s shop. Working on my Hastur impression. I performed a nice back and forth on what a boon for Hell losing such a _worthy adversary_ would be,” Crowley said, mirroring Aziraphale’s description of Crowley to the angels. “I was rather good. D’you think I could go for Hamlet?”

Aziraphale hadn’t paid mind to that last part. A smile had widened on his face. Oh, he _was_ a wily serpent. “That was very kind of you.”

“On the contrary, Angel. It was exceedingly selfish of me. Giving up the Arrangement? Having to actually _work_?” He made a face of disgust. “Couldn’t let that happen. I don’t think _Micheal_ would be quite as- what would you say, flexible?”

 _Flexible._ There was something about that word that felt almost dirty.

Aziraphale huffed. He didn’t enjoy being reminded that he was aiding a demon, but he did admit that the Arrangement was rather convenient and did allow him more time for his books. And for himself and his own amusements. He really did enjoy Earth’s pleasures, and, well, perhaps some of the company was nice as well.

“Never did get to give you these,” Crowley said, holding up the package still in his hand. “Happened to be in Switzerland and thought you might like them.” He tossed the package at Aziraphale. Surprised, Aziraphale just barely caught it. Swiss chocolates. Aziraphale stared at the package, wide eyed. “What do you say we give them a try?”

“Oh! Oh, yes of course! Tea? I’ll put on the kettle. Would you be a dear and turn the sign to closed? I’ll just be in this back room—“ Aziraphale hurried off to the back room. Once done fumbling with the kettle over the fireplace, he paused to take a few deep breaths and collect himself. 

Aziraphale didn’t know why he was nervous. Is that what he was? Something about Crowley being here, _here._ It was rather different than running into each other by accident or meeting for a specific arrangement related discussion. 

Of course, even those meetings often became social. There were very few people with whom Aziraphale could feel truly comfortable. And Crowley... well. 

He was an enigma, really. A _demon,_ of course, stirring up trouble. But also secretly kind. And his questioning, well, it did make sense, often. He challenged Aziraphale’s notions in the best ways possible. _You can’t have the light without the dark, is not that right?_ Aziraphale mused quietly, letting a smile creep onto his face.

Aziraphale had been in the back room for a while then and realized, suddenly, that he had left his guest alone for quite some time. He had half expected him to follow him, Crowley wasn’t necessarily the most polite. What could you expect from a demon, really? But he hadn’t followed.

Aziraphale peaked through the back room door to the main shop to check on him. Crowley was in the Shakespeare section, closely examining the volumes. Aziraphale wondered if he was thinking of the original productions. The times they had seen Hamlet- once nearly alone and once with a roaring crowd that one could barely move in. Those memories were truly a treasure. Aziraphale couldn’t help but to smile again at the fond memory.

Snapping himself out of it, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You can join me back here,” he said, a tad shyly. At this, Crowley swiveled, a dazzling smile on his face as he casually approached, brushing past Aziraphale as he made his way into the room. As the demon surveyed the space, Aziraphale became painfully aware that there was only one armchair and a decidedly less cozy desk chair in the small room. “Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of sitting room—“ Crowley snapped his fingers and a couch that matched the armchair appeared in the room, just managing to fit in the cramped space. Aziraphale looked at Crowley disapprovingly. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, don’t worry! The shop owner will wake to some very nice compensation in its place,” Crowley said, waving his hat in the air and flopping onto the newly appeared couch, letting the hat fall from his hand and to the floor. Appeased, Aziraphale moved to sit in the armchair before stopping in his tracks, remembering the kettle and bustling to the back pantry to fetch teacups and make them each a cup. He was really forgetting himself. What a terrible host he was being.

He returned to the living area with the two cups and the box of chocolates under his arm, handing one of the cups to Crowley, which was received graciously (Crowley had switched to sitting up) and finally settling down in his armchair. Holding his teacup in one hand, Aziraphale carefully removed the chocolate package from under his arm and began to gently untie the red ribbon surrounding it with his free hand. When he managed to get the box open, he saw a dozen beautifully crafted chocolates with elegant little designs on them.

“Oh, Crowley! These are- these are lovely!” The sight of the chocolates filled Aziraphale to the brim with such a warm affection for his friend (yes, yes, friend was right) that he could even feel his eyes beginning to water. He blinked a few times to keep his eyes from spilling over and, gaining his composure, he delicately picked up a chocolate and placed it to his lips, closing his eyes to savor it. The chocolate had a creamy texture that melted beautifully in his mouth with each small bite. He couldn’t help but to let out a sound of enjoyment and contentment. “Mmmm.” He opened his eyes to see that his friend was sitting forward now, gazing at him intently with a wild smile on his face, making Aziraphale blush.

“You like them, then?”

“Oh, yes, Crowley, they are splendid. You _must_ have one.”

Crowley lithely sprung to his feet and ambled over to Aziraphale, plucking a chocolate from the box. He rotated it in his fingers for a moment, considering it, before popping it into his mouth. My, he was graceful. In a sort of demonic way, of course. Aziraphale watched him expectantly as he swallowed the chocolate. “Well?” 

Crowley shrugged. “‘S’not really my thing. Alcohol, though, now that’s something I can get behind.” Crowley lazily discarded his empty teacup on Aziraphale’s desk before laying back out on the couch.

“Oh! I’ve got some stores here! If you’d like wine, I’ve got some nice vintages, oh and I think I have a nice scotch somewhere as well!” Aziraphale placed his own teacup and the chocolates on the desk before rushing to the pantry to rifle through the cupboards. 

“Wouldn’t mind some scotch!” He heard Crowley call from the couch. 

~~~

4 solid hours of drinking and half a box of chocolates later, Aziraphale was becoming less and less capable of lucid thought. Crowley was pacing around in a rumpled shirt, his coat and waistcoat strewn somewhere. He was waxing on about something philosophical, Aziraphale was struggling to follow what. 

Aziraphale’s limited thought capacity was focused on reflecting on the gift of chocolates from Crowley. This was the first gift Crowley had given him. They had had many meals and drinks together, met at various rendezvous locations, and most recently, Crowley had actually saved Aziraphale from what would have likely been a rather unpleasant beheading and a mountain of paperwork. But this was something more. Did chocolates have some sort of meaning? The answer was out of Aziraphale’s reach, escaping to the corners of his mind, pressing up against imaginary walls he couldn’t reach. 

Perhaps he really had just thought Aziraphale would like them. He had been quite right.

Was this what it was to have a true friend?

Someone who thought of you when you weren’t together?

Someone who celebrated with you when you accomplished something?

A minor accomplishment, really, acquiring a space for a bookshop. But it was exciting, all the same. And Crowley was probably his only peer (were they peers? He supposed so) to understand why.

“What do _you_ reckon?”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale realized that Crowley had directed a question at him and he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was about.

“About all these rules about virtue and propriety and all that. I mean, it’s a double standard, isn’t it? Women and men. Take women- isn’t their position in society sort of, well, bonkers? I mean, it’s daft, innit?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“What’Dyu mean, how would you know? Haven’t your side got an argument?”

“Well, yes, I s’pose. I s’pose my side would say Eve was made of Adam to be his help-meet, or what have you, which I s’pose means something about womanly duty-“

“And what do _you_ think?”

“‘M an angel. I must agree with the heavenly, um, something.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re cleverer than that.”

Aziraphale felt his face redden. “I don’t expect _you_ to understand heavenly arguments.”

“No, ‘course not,” the demon responded with an edge in his voice. He scooped his hat from the floor. “Well, I wouldn’t want my lowly demonic presence to taint your shop any more than it has.”

“What? _Crowley._ Surely you aren’t leaving? My dear fellow, let’s just sober up.”

The demon seemed to calm at that. “Yeah. S’pose.”

After they each scrunched their faces and squeezed the alcohol out of their systems, Crowley flopped again on the couch dramatically. “You know, all this class division the humans have come up with, and all this gender nonsense, it’s all out of their control, isn’t it? They can’t help if they are born a bastard or a woman or just plain poor. And there’s no way out of it!”

Aziraphale was still trying to get the bad taste of sobering up out of his mouth, but he looked at Crowley curiously. “But you’re a demon. Shouldn’t you be happy about something like that? I mean, humans creating misery for each other? Makes your job easier, doesn’t it?”

“Well, maybe, but there’s not much fun in it if there is no choice,” Crowley said simply.

“Well, really, the ones that are born bastards or women or poor are the luckiest because it is the meek that will inherit the earth.”

“Doesn’t do ‘em a sod of good now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I mean, take women, like I was saying before.” He re-positioned himself to be perched on one of the couch’s arms, from which position he could now gesture wildly. “Even born rich, their entire lives are spent trying to become the best prize so some bozo with lots of money will choose them. Why? So they don’t have to be poor and so they don’t bring shame to the family? They can’t inherit for themselves, can’t do business, it’s worse for the rich ones, even. At least the poor ones can work and have some independence. Imagine, knowing that marriage is your most important life goal and it’s a financial arrangement. No choice. Just because of who you were born. And one little mistake can end everything. One little impropriety. Men don’t have to worry about that. What if she loves someone who’s poor? No dice. Not if she wants to maintain her position in society.”

“What would _you_ know about _love_?” 

Crowley seemed surprised to have been cut off mid-tirade. He gazed at Aziraphale open mouthed for a moment before closing his mouth tightly and remaining silent. A few more silent moments passed and Aziraphale wondered if he had said something very wrong, indeed. He searched Crowley’s face for an answer. He had his glasses on and was still as a statue, his face expressionless.

“Nothing,” Crowley said with an air of sober finality. After a thoughtful beat, “You know, I am beginning to think this class stuff is one of your lot’s. Sounds like the Almighty. One little mistake, no choice.” Crowley’s bitterness cut through the stale air. 

“Now, see here,” Aziraphale responded sternly. “My lot is responsible for nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but be offended. Sure, he hadn’t given much thought to classes or gender or social injustice in general, really, previously. But since Crowley laid it out so plainly, he had to admit he had a point and something so wretched could not have come from the Almighty. Aziraphale would have known about it. When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale added “I certainly wouldn’t be involved in creating such a system.”

Somehow this little statement managed to break Crowley out of whatever spell he was under and he picked up his top hat again to spin it lazily, a smile creeping on his face. “No. _You_ wouldn’t.” 

Aziraphale was relieved to see him back in what appeared to be his usual playful state.

“You never told me any more about your first day in the shop. Any interesting customers?” Crowley asked lightly.

Aziraphale told him about the two rather uninteresting encounters, but Crowley seemed to be gleeful with each story, anyways. 

“Ah, young hearts. I may not know much about love, Angel, but I do know about lust. _You_ had better be careful.”

“Whatever do you mean? Those young ladies were certainly not interested in _me.”_

“No, not _them._ Though I appreciate their interest in regimental men. One of ours, militaries are. No, no,” Crowley said, waving his hand. “The gentleman who came in? I don’t think he is interested in your books.”

“No, I rather gathered that much. Hold on, do you mean to imply-“ Aziraphale’s face flushed as Crowley raised his eyebrows, a wide smile on his face. “Well, that is just preposterous!” Aziraphale stammered. 

Crowley sprung from his perch. “I’m just saying. I’m willing to bet that’s not the last time he turns up,” Crowley teased, circling around Aziraphale’s armchair and positioning himself just behind him. Aziraphale stared forward, huffing. From behind him, Aziraphale heard, “Well, it’s rather late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, rather.” Aziraphale’s response came out a bit petulant. Crowley chuckled.

“I had better be off. _Don’t_ let the rest of those chocolates go to waste,” Crowley demanded playfully, giving Aziraphale’s shoulders a light squeeze from behind him, before sweeping through the room to gather his scattered belongings. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale responded breathlessly. Any indignation he had felt at Crowley’s teasing had evaporated instantly upon Crowley’s touch. His eyes locked onto Crowley, tracking his movement through the room. Finally, with all his belongings in hand, Crowley faced Aziraphale from the door to the main shop. 

“I look forward to more bookshop stories!”

“Um. Yes, of course.”

And with that, Crowley was out of the back room and into the main shop. It took a moment for Aziraphale to gather himself enough to get up. He followed hesitantly into the main shop to see Crowley already gone. He made it to the window just in time to see his retreating figure fade into the darkness of the night.

Well. That was a thing.

~~~

The gentleman who had visited did come back to the shop, as Crowley predicted, several times. He exchanged pleasantries with Aziraphale during a few short visits (never showing much interest in the books) before eventually inviting him to join a discreet gentlemen’s club, one not too dissimilar from the one in which Aziraphale would learn the gavotte some decades later. Aziraphale was delighted to join and quickly became a regular member in attendance.

If the man who originally invited him became frustrated by Aziraphale’s lack of special attention, to him or to any of the club members, Aziraphale never noticed. (Aziraphale merely reveled in having happened upon such a fun social group.) There was no question as to whether he belonged in the group, but the gentlemen did wonder at this completely delightful and effusive man who never so much as returned a coy glance to any of them. It wasn’t until some of the gentlemen were in a tea house together, the angel in their company, that some explanation revealed itself. 

They were laughing gayly and exchanging stories about their favorite indulgences (of the food variety, thank you very much) and Aziraphale had brought up the chocolates. “Swiss chocolates! Actually from Switzerland! Oh, they were delightful. Simply divine!” This, of course, was met by approving nods.

Someone else was sharing, going on about some cake at a particularly high society ball, when Aziraphale, who had happened to be gazing out the window contentedly, gasped. The man’s story paused as all the gentlemen turned to look at Aziraphale in surprise. “But- but that’s him! There!” The men remained in an awed silence as Aziraphale pointed out the window. “My friend! Who gave me the chocolates!” Aziraphale stood from his chair abruptly, causing several teacups to wobble on their dishes as his burst shook the table and his chair. He smoothed his waist coat, eyes fixed on the someone outside. “I- I had better say hello. Excuse me, gentlemen,” he announced rather absently as he quickly gathered and donned his coat and hat, rushing out the tea house door. The gentlemen’s gazes followed after him through the window, seeing him catch up to a thin and handsomely dressed man who had been looking through a shop window. When he saw their friend, the man took off his hat, revealing fiery red hair, and bowed theatrically. The bow was met by a chuckle and blush none of them had ever seen grace their friend’s face in their own company. 

“Swiss chocolates. All the way from Switzerland,” one of the men watching from the tea house said, shaking his head.

“Well there you have it, John,” another man said. “You never stood a chance.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was honestly _this_ close to throwing canon to the wind because how, _how_ anyone could think that even _considering_ having Crowley give Aziraphale something as erotic as chocolates and making that canon is okay is blowing my mind. And also, this [fan art](https://alicerovai.tumblr.com/post/186075120411/we-can-run-away-together-crowley-was-going-to).
> 
> *edit to this work: when originally posted, this work featured a kitchenette. I was kindly reminded by a reader that it is 1800 and that makes no sense because we are ages for electricity and all, so whoops, y’all. I tried to adjust it and hopefully it doesn’t change the way it reads too much.


End file.
